August Bistro
by PegasusAcc
Summary: [hinted lemon] Midii takes a job at the new "August Bistro" in order to prove to everyone that she can take care of herself. But Trowa wants to show to Midii that he can take care of her too.


August Bistro

By: PegasusAcc

Midii pulled her hair behind her head, tying the golden tresses with her mother's old handkerchief.  The smells of the small restaurant's kitchen wafted through the air, mingling with the scent to alcohol from the bar.  She peered out the circular window, watching the bustle of people around the tables.  She groaned, heaving a heavy sigh that fogged the scratched glass.  Wrinkling her nose, she flattened her black skirt and stuck a pen behind her ear, dreading the very thought of stepping into the throng of hungry colonists.

The _August Bistro _was the newest addition to the usually monotonous life on the colony.  Anyone and everyone who managed to snag a reservation was looked upon with envy and intense jealousy.  Trowa had hardly believed her when she'd come home, muttering tiredly how she'd be there for dinner the following evening.

"It's not as if I _want_ to," she complained from the bedroom, changing out of her preventer uniform and into a more comfortable pair of sweat pants.  "But despite popular belief, Trowa, being a preventer does not mean being rich."  She fell next to him on the couch, snuggling beneath his arm and feeling the ripple of his muscles from beneath his thin, cotton tee shirt.  He closed his arms around her, molding her smaller frame to his.

"What are you saying Midii?" he asked, running his fingers through her hair, lightly grazing the tender flesh of her cheek.  Midii wiggled a bit further into his hold, trying to block out the image of her signature sprawling across the god-awful sheet of paper.

"Trowa, I begin as a waitress there tomorrow night."

It started as only a suppressed chuckle and raged into an unrestrained laugh.

  
"Oh, Midii!" Trowa sobbed, nuzzling his face into her hair in an attempt to stop his outburst.  "Why would you want to do that?  You know that if you're having trouble making ends meet, you can always ask me.  I make enough money to support both of us."

Midii scowled, emerging from her burrow to punch him playfully on the arm.  "Trowa Barton, don't you dare take away my independence.  Lord be damned if I've ever let anyone take care of me before, and I'm not about to let it happen now.  I can take care of myself, and I'm going to prove it!"  She stuck out her bottom lip for an added effect.

"All right, Midii," he grinned, seizing the opportunity to steal a kiss.  He pressed her down into the sofa, groaning as her arms slid around the back of his neck.  "But that doesn't hold true in the bedroom, does it?"  He began leaving a trail of kisses along her collarbone, feeling her fingers twine in his hair.

"Naughty naughty!" she moaned, a smile on her already passion-swollen lips.  "You're trying to make me into a hypocrite!"  Trowa nibbled on her earlobe, pressing against her harder when she gasped.  "You're really something, you know that?" she questioned, allowing him to slide her from the couch and lead her into the bedroom.  He chuckled again, closing the door behind them.

Midii shook herself from her daydream as she heard a china plate shatter on the seven thousand dollar, Italian tiled floor.  She ran her fingers through her bangs then dashed off to the closet for the broom.  It had been nearly three months now, and every day of work was harder on her nerves.  She never was a people person, but this job she'd taken more as a test to prove to herself that she could do anything she needed, and that meant doing it without relying on the help of anyone, least of all Trowa.  Midii shifted through the others waiting tables.  

"Table six, lass," whistled the manager, his thick Scottish accent poking through under the confusion.  "Upper tier."  She smiled pitifully, casting a quick glance at the most expensive portion of the restaurant.  She hated weaseling her way through the crowds there; the caps in their teeth could probably cover her rent for a year.  Aristocratic, money-pinchers and her did not usually strike a common cord.

"What's wrong, lass?" asked the manager as he twisted the gray ends of his beard around his forefinger.

"Nothing," Midii quipped, holding herself high.  She began to make her way past the bar before he grabbed her wrist.

"There be quite a bustle that way, lass," he joked.  "Why not let me guide ya through the place, eh?  I know ya don't quite fancy those genteel folk."  Midii cringed, but allowed herself to be directed past the tables by the man who was old enough to be her grandfather.

"Now, don't the place look pretty tonight?" he asked, waiting for one of the bus boys to skirt through the thin aisles.  "Came in early and made sure it was extra special.  Made is sparkle I did, and with little help, mind you!"  He chuckled slightly, taking the broom from her hand and edging her forward.

"Miss," one of the colonists spoke quietly, holding out the red rose from their table.  "We want you to have this."  Midii frowned, thanking the man politely.  The manager chuckled again, weaving her in and out between the tables.

"Thank you, this is for you."

"Lei sono bello come il sorto."

"For you, ma'am."

"Gracias, esto es para usted."

"Une rose pour vous, mademoiselle."

Midii blinked, puzzled, but accepting each rose as it was held out to her.  "Sir," she asked, shifting the bouquet to her other arm.  "It would have been much faster to simply go the other way, without traveling through the entire restaurant."  She made to grasp a rose as it fell from her hands.

"Hum, perhaps." 

He turned her around, avoiding the spiral staircase up to the third tier.  Midii groaned, feeling a headache begin to throb at her temples.  They had only been a few feet away from the stairs, and now they were going back around the other way again.  She rubbed her forehead, attempting to alleviate the pain beginning to crescendo.  She couldn't think straight, and the thorns from all the roses were starting to poke through her shirt fabric.  Midii looked at the roses, running her fingers gently over the velvet, crimson petals.  She didn't understand why she'd been handed them all, but most likely they were to be thrown out.  "Such a shame," she mused, absently catching the roses tossed down from the upper levels.

"Ah…here we be," the manager huffed.  He took a deep breath and cleared his throat.  Midii looked around for the stairs, but they were right where they had begun: in front of the bar.

"Sir," she said cautiously, attempting to keep her voice from being acidic.  "The accident was in the third tier was it not?"  The manager looked around.

"Yes'um.  But George has already cleared that mess up."  Midii swallowed, biting her tongue and working her way back to the kitchen.  She felt a hand grasp around her wrist again, and she tugged lightly.  

"Sir, I have to get back to work," she replied rather harshly as he refused to let her go.  "Sir…"

"But Midii, you've been given the rest of the night off."  She turned, met with Trowa's smiling face.

"Trowa!" she gasped, flinging herself into his arms and crushing the roses between them.  He leaned forward, capturing her lips with his and tilted her over the bar, pulling the handkerchief from her hair and watching hungrily as it fell over her shoulders.  "What are you doing here?" she questioned playfully as he nuzzled into her neck, taking in her scent.

"I came to see you."  He gazed into her eyes, brushing away a curl of gold.  "And I wanted to ask you a question."

Midii bit her lip, worry lines etching themselves into her brow.  Trowa was always so sure of everything, it always frightened her a bit when he had to ask her opinion.  And what could be so important that he had to come to work to ask her?

"Midii…" he whispered quietly, running his fingers gently over her cheek.  "I know didn't take this job simply because you needed to money."

Midii began to protest, but Trowa placed a finger tenderly on her lips and shook his head.  "I know that you feel some obligation to prove to everyone that you're strong, and that you can take care of yourself.  But Midii, I know, as well as everyone else, that you're already strong.  You don't have to prove anything to anyone.  And Midii…I don't want you to feel as if you have to do everything alone."  Trowa let his hands graze over her shoulders, feeling the slight tremble beneath the fabric.  "Midii, you know I love you and more than anything, I want you to be happy.  So, Midii…" Trowa asked, going down on one knee and taking out a small velvet box from his pocket.  "Will you allow me to be there with you?  Will you let me take care of you?  But most of all," he said, choking slightly on his words.  "Midii, will you let me try to make you happy?  Please Midii, will you marry me?"

Tears filled her eyes, spilling over her flushed cheeks.  She fell into his arms, sobbing.  "Yes," she cried, his arms encased around her.  "Oh, Trowa!" she wept as he rocked her back and forth.  "I love you!  Oh God, do I love you…"

Trowa smiled, letting the rare gesture he often reserved simply for her slide onto his handsome features.  He kissed her, feeling a warm peace wash over him as he slid the ring onto her finger.  He could feel Midii yearning for his touch; it was obvious the way her fingers kept trailing down his back and hooking themselves on the waist of his jeans.

"Get yourselves out of here, ya love birds!" the manager chortled, shooing them away from the bar and toward the exit.  "Besides…we've got to go put new flowers out, now that the soon-to-be Mrs. Barton has taken all the roses."  Midii felt a flush rise to her cheeks, scolding herself for being so ignorant as not to notice anything earlier.  Trowa wrapped his arm around her waist, leading her out the door followed by the thunderous applause of the bistro. 


End file.
